4 Folk, Walking the Dogs

Friday Fictioneers: Doc-gone

Wednesday evening, I’m sat in front of the log burner and thinking how lucky I am to have stumbled across this little band of merry fellows (non-gender specific). So a big thank you to Rochelle for setting this up every week without fail and for Dale Rogerson for supplying the beautiful photo, check out her blog if you haven’t before.

Once again I have no clue, my head empty aside from Lonelady playing her sparse jerky Mancunian industrial tunes on the record player, perfect to distract me from the job in hand.

The mine collapsed, the diamonds buried, so was Dopey, always the last out, this time dusted and stunned; still stupid.

The dwarves had stowed a majority of their riches, pre and post Snow White, deep within the mine, totally inaccessible.

Months had passed, Grumpy was, Happy wasn’t, Sneezy’s tubes had cleared and was yodelling all the time, Sleepy was catatonic, Bashful had found himself a Dominatrix, Dopey discovered acid and tried to row down river on a telephone.

Only Doc saw the scintillating, sparkling river, took out his sieve and started to pan for what he hoped might be present.

100 words, Christ this is hard, I think, and I hope you like it.

Question Time is on, Brexit is the main topic and the world is going to shite!

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It’s off the phone we row. Leave it to Doc to be the pragmatic one. As for me I’m so Sleepy I’m almost Dopey. So I’ll give you my applause and bid you a fond Nonnie Nonnie and be off to join Winkin’, Blinkin’ and Nod.